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  Clerk frowned. ‘Instead of Jane. It’s Jane who should have been executed – not Elizabeth.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Ellis. ‘Why was Jane originally executed?’

  ‘Because,’ I said slowly. ‘Because of Thomas Wyatt’s Rebellion. Early in Mary’s reign, there was a plot to replace her with Elizabeth – the Protestant princess. Elizabeth somehow managed to convince Mary of her innocence, but Jane was considered too dangerous to live and she was executed. Here – in this . . . this . . .’

  ‘Bubble,’ said Ellis, helpfully.

  ‘. . . in this bubble . . . Mary died, which meant Elizabeth had to die, too, and Jane lived to become queen.’

  I began to speak more quickly as my idea took hold. ‘So, all we have to do is keep Mary away from London. Because if she lives, then so will Elizabeth. Mary will be crowned, which means Wyatt’s Rebellion will take place and Jane will die. As she should do.’

  ‘So,’ said Ellis, ‘what you’re saying is that if Mary lives, then Elizabeth lives also. And if they both live, then Jane doesn’t and we’re back on track.’

  ‘Could be,’ said Clerk, thinking.

  ‘That seems very . . . simple.’

  ‘Mm . . .’ I said, thinking.

  ‘I think . . .’ said Bashford and stopped.

  I looked at him. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well . . .’ He stopped again and looked at the Time Police, uncertain what to say.

  I turned to Ellis. ‘What Mr Bashford is saying is that we need two teams. One in 1553 to safeguard Mary and ensure her succession, and the other in 1554 to make sure the rebellion happens and that Jane safely dies.’

  ‘Before she starts displaying her monster qualities, yes?’

  Clerk stood up. ‘We’d better get cracking, hadn’t we? Coming, Max?’

  Ellis shook his head. ‘I can’t allow that.’

  St Mary’s stiffened.

  ‘No – and before you all look at me like that – firstly, Max is a member of the Time Police now and answers to me. I will decide her role in all this. Secondly, you’re all going home. You shouldn’t be here at all. The 16th century is extremely unstable at the moment. Our purpose here is to get you out safely and then we will assess the situation to decide what action we should take. You won’t be involved in any of this because you’re going home. Now.’

  Clerk looked at me.

  ‘That’s all true,’ I said. ‘You should get back to St Mary’s and leave the Time Police – us – to deal with things here.’

  He looked them up and down. ‘And they know what they’re doing?’

  ‘Of course not,’ I said, ‘but half the time neither do we.’

  ‘Max . . .’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘My word on this is final. I mean Captain Ellis’s word on this is final. Back to St Mary’s.’

  ‘OK,’ he said casually, heading towards the door.

  ‘And Officers Bevan and Nash will escort you,’ said Ellis, equally casually. ‘Just to make sure you get back to your pod safely.’

  This time the silence was pregnant. For some reason, everyone looked at me.

  I nodded at Ellis and said to Clerk, ‘What he said.’

  ‘Max, they’re not – with respect, Captain Ellis – they’re not historians.’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘but I am. Leave this to me. And the Time Police, of course.’

  Clerk was still reluctant. ‘If you’re sure, Max.’

  ‘I am. You’re going to have to trust us on this one. And Dr Bairstow needs to know what’s happening here.’

  ‘He’s got a lot on at the moment,’ said Bashford, quietly. ‘This won’t help.’

  I turned to him. ‘Such as?’

  ‘Oh . . . um . . . well, they don’t really tell us anything, do they?’

  ‘Well, they do,’ said North, ‘but you’re usually too busy making love to your chicken to take it in.’

  Time Police heads swung towards Bashford. ‘Angus is very intelligent,’ he said indignantly.

  ‘More intelligent than you, certainly.’

  ‘She can count.’

  ‘Much more intelligent than you.’

  ‘You should go now,’ said Ellis quickly, as Bashford began to bristle. ‘Nash, Bevan . . .’

  ‘No, wait,’ I said quickly. ‘I’ve been thinking. Yes, I accept your point about getting them out of the way – this is an unstable envir­onment – but before you dismiss the idea completely, you might want to consider the advantages of having a couple of historians along. Yes,’ I said, as Time Police heads all turned to look at me. ‘I’m sure you’re all excellent at what you do, but the point I’m making is that you don’t do this. History, I mean. But we do. It doesn’t make sense to have expertise and not use it. If you amalgamate Mr Clerk’s team, together with your excellent clean-up squad here . . .’ I gestured and they blinked, ‘. . . you’d actually have expertise and muscle. Vital ingredients for any successful rebellion. Which means that our team,’ I gestured at Ellis and the others, ‘are free to concentrate on Mary.

  ‘And,’ I continued, before Ellis could open his mouth to say no, ‘I think you should also consider the possibility you may have to split your team even further. Mary writes to the Privy Council declaring herself Edward’s heir and claiming the throne. That letter must reach London. Robert Dudley is out there somewhere so you might want to consider detailing a few people to ensure that it does actually arrive.’

  St Mary’s, experts at cutting the ground from underneath an opponent in an argument, and well aware of the pitfalls of over-egging the pudding, sat back quietly to let the implications sink in.

  ‘Our mission was to pull St Mary’s out.’ There was just the very slightest trace of doubt in Ellis’s voice. And he’d used the past tense.

  I pursued the advantage. ‘And you will still be able to do so once they’ve assisted your people to a successful conclusion. I’m not criticising anyone, but how many of your people could recognise Edward Courtney or James Croft or Peter Carew, or understand the implications of their actions? Or are even able to communicate effectively with them? Captain Ellis, I formally recommend the inclusion of one, some, or all of this St Mary’s team. It’s ridiculous to have expertise and not avail ourselves of it.’

  ‘And,’ said Clerk politely, ‘another point, which I’m sure has only not occurred to you because you haven’t had time to think about it yet, is that you don’t have enough pods. If this lot . . .’ he nodded at the clean-up squad, ‘. . . heads off to 1554, then that leaves you lot . . .’ he nodded at Ellis and his entourage, ‘. . . podless. At the mercy of whatever happens. You can’t tell me that’s good practice.’

  Everyone from St Mary’s had the sense to keep quiet and look as if good practice was something that happened to them every day.

  ‘I can return to TPHQ for reinforcements.’

  I shook my head. ‘You said it yourself, this is an unstable envir­onment. Every time someone jumps in or out it will become that little bit more unstable. And Time is not on your side on this one. In fact, I think we should get a move on.’

  I shut up and left him to think about it. Clerk and the others knew when to remain silent as well. We all sat and watched him think it through. Even the clean-up crew said nothing, although to be fair, I wasn’t sure they’d all mastered speech.

  ‘If,’ said Ellis, ‘we didn’t have to factor in a dodgy timeline then I might be tempted, but . . .’

  ‘What will happen if the bubble bursts?’ asked Clerk. ‘Or if the timeline rolls up? Or any other colourful Time Police metaphor for catastrophe?’

  ‘I really don’t know,’ said Ellis.

  Something in his voice made me pause. ‘This sort of thing has happened before, hasn’t it?’

  He paused and then said reluctantly, ‘We think so, yes.’

  ‘Don’t you know?’<
br />
  ‘Well, that’s kind of the point I’m trying to make, Max. We don’t know. We rebuild what we can and assume everything goes back to the way it should be.’

  ‘Or the way we think it should be,’ said Grint helpfully.

  ‘Or the way it should be but wasn’t,’ said Bevan.

  ‘But now is,’ said Nash.

  I looked at them grimly. ‘Just a tiny hint-ette, guys – never bullshit a bullshitter.’

  ‘No, listen,’ said Clerk, leaning forwards. ‘We can handle the rebellion. We’re St Mary’s. We’d be good at that.’

  I nodded. ‘From experience, I can confirm they’d be very good at that.’

  ‘And,’ said Bashford, ‘you’ll be allocating tasks according to abilities. We take a team back to 1554 and identify the potential causers of trouble. We whisper in a few ears and let events take their course.’

  ‘Everyone plays to their strengths,’ said North. ‘A logical course of action.’

  ‘I don’t think any of you realise,’ said Ellis, in exasperation, ‘that a successful conclusion puts us in even more danger than before. As soon as everything is back on track this timeline will disappear. And possibly us with it. Which is our risk – but not yours.’

  ‘We can take steps to minimise that risk,’ I said. ‘It shouldn’t be a problem.’

  Ellis was silent for a moment and then said, ‘All right, consider this. There are two main areas on which to concentrate, which means splitting our forces because we can’t go back and get more people. In fact, it would be dangerous to do so. Reluctantly, I agree. We should split into two teams.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘One team to cover Mary in 1553 and the other . . .’

  He sighed. ‘The other needs to jump on ahead to 1554 and do what they can to foment a rebellion. I’m aware of St Mary’s natural talents in this direction, Max, and I’m prepared to include your people. You, though, I think I’d rather have with Mary.’

  I nodded. That made sense. When dealing with a woman, other women are always useful. I could just imagine Grint, for example, strolling into Mary’s bedroom somewhere and saying, ‘Hey, listen up, doll . . .’

  ‘Max, you and I will lead the team to intercept Mary. With your permission, we’ll be in the St Mary’s pod. The others,’ he nodded at Clerk and the clean-up team, ‘will handle the rebellion from this pod.’

  I nodded. All that made good sense.

  He turned to the clean-up squad. ‘As soon as you’re done, you jump to The Tabard. You know it?’

  ‘I do,’ said Clerk. ‘Been there – drunk the beer.’

  ‘Good. Bevan and Nash – you’ll follow the letter. As soon as it’s safely delivered, you get yourselves to The Tabard also. Rendezvous with the clean-up squad and jump back to HQ.’

  ‘What about you?’ asked Bevan.

  ‘Max and I will make our own way back in the St Mary’s pod.’ He turned to Clerk and said, with all the politeness of one who would go ahead and take it anyway, ‘With your permission.’

  Clerk nodded.

  ‘No one hangs around. As soon as your part is completed, you return to TPHQ.’

  ‘What – not even time for a beer?’ said Bashford.

  ‘Actually . . . no,’ said North, thoughtfully.

  I thought she’d been a bit quiet.

  She’d found a scratchpad from somewhere and was frowning deeply. ‘I think we might have a problem.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Time.’

  ‘You mean . . .’ I gestured around us and assumed a portentous tone. ‘Time . . .’

  She ignored this frivolity. ‘No, I mean time as in we might not have enough of it.’

  ‘Explain,’ said Ellis, curtly.

  ‘Well, I don’t think the rebellion will be a great problem. We know that it did happen. We just need to ensure that it does happen. But the Mary part of the assignment might be a little trickier. Forgive me, this isn’t one of my areas of expertise, but Mary rides from Hunsdon?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, she has no idea of the extent of Edward’s illness so she’s in no rush.’

  ‘And her first stop is Hoddesdon?’

  ‘As far as we know, yes.’

  ‘Where she’s warned?’

  ‘There are differing accounts but, yes, she could be.’

  ‘Hoddesdon’s not that far from Hunsdon. Which is good and bad. It means you’ll only have a short walk that day. But – the minute that letter sets off then we’re on the clock. Because, as the crow flies, Hoddesdon’s only about twenty miles from London. It’s a longer route by road, but I would imagine they’ll cut across country. I estimate, with a fast horse, the letter should take between two and four hours to get to London. Perhaps slightly longer if they’re unfamiliar with the route, but say only three hours to be on the safe side.’

  ‘Yes? And?’

  ‘You’ll be leaving the pod behind you at Hunsdon. You travel six or seven miles to Hoddesdon, do the business . . .’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Shit.’

  ‘Yes – you’ll have only three hours to get back to the pod. Possibly less. And that’s barring accidents, getting lost, or falling over. And you’ll be tired because you’ve already done the seven miles there.’

  There was silence in the pod.

  ‘If we assume – and I think we should – that putting events back on track will mean the end of this particular . . .’

  ‘Bubble,’ said Ellis.

  ‘. . . bubble, then you could find yourself seven miles from your pod, in a strange environment, possibly in the dark, and with only three hours to get out. That’s a very narrow margin.’

  ‘We’ll come for you,’ said Clerk.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘You won’t. And that’s an order.’ I turned to Ellis. ‘What will happen if we don’t make it back to the pod in time?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Let’s hope for the best but plan for the worst. Let’s say we have three hours from Mary despatching the letter . . . The letter goes one way – Mary goes another. And at great speed, probably. She won’t want to hang around.’ He stopped, worried.

  ‘She’ll head for her estates in Norfolk,’ I said. ‘We can do it. They . . .’ I nodded at the clean-up crew and Clerk’s team, ‘. . . rendezvous at The Tabard and jump. We tidy things up with Mary, race back to the pod and jump. Jobs done and done.’

  ‘Why not just take the pod to Hoddesdon and wait for her there?’ asked Bashford.

  ‘Because we need to keep an eye on her,’ I said. ‘We don’t know at what point Northumberland plans to have her poisoned. Don’t forget Robert Dudley’s out there somewhere, waiting for her. We can’t afford to let her out of our sight.’

  ‘Three hours,’ said Ellis, doubtfully. ‘Shit.’

  ‘Possibly less,’ said North, just to cheer him up, ‘if they have good horses.’

  ‘It will surely take some time for events to play out,’ I said, from a position of massive ignorance but with even more massive optimism. ‘As long as everyone takes their pods and jumps as soon as their task is completed, we’ll be fine.’

  That last sentence had the hollow ring of bravado. All our lives we’ve been taught not to interfere with History. Grant died at Peterloo because he tried to save a woman and child. Randall was knifed in Rouen when he tried to put Joan of Arc out of her misery. He died in the pod in a pool of his own blood. Hoyle was trampled to death in his desperate and doomed attempt to kill Henry Tudor at Bosworth Field. You can’t change History. History doesn’t like it. There are always consequences.

  On the other hand, History had already been changed. Among all the traffic in and out of the 16th century, someone, somewhere, had done something. It could have been a tiny thing. We’d never know and the person responsible was surely dead. It might not have been maliciously done. It was probably an unknowing acci
dent, but the implications were spreading outwards like ripples on a still surface.

  I was still having difficulties with Ellis’s Decking of Time ­explanation, but I’d seen the Time Map disintegrate in front of my eyes. I’d seen the darkness spread. I’d watched new paths form, new points emerge. I’d watched History change.

  It wasn’t yet too late, according to Ellis. We’d located the tipping point. Well, a tipping point, anyway. A little – a very little – cautious intervention and the day would be saved. History could be back on track.

  I’d done something similar once before when Mary Stuart – that headstrong little minx – wasn’t behaving according to the History books. Clive Ronan had been behind that particular episode. We’d put things right. Well, I had, and I’m still not proud of what I did but, on that occasion, History had worked with me. I’d been conscious of having my way smoothed. Luck had been with me all the way. Opportunities had offered themselves and I’d availed myself of them. This could be a similar situation. I hoped. Because if it wasn’t . . . If it wasn’t, then any attempt to interfere could bring disaster crashing down upon us. And it wasn’t as if there wouldn’t be plenty of opportunities for disaster out there. But we didn’t have a lot of choice.

  We didn’t have a lot of time, either. If this was one of those bubble universes and it was too fragile to live long then it could burst at any moment. With us inside it.

  11

  The clean-up crew stood quietly by the door. None of them were saying anything but they always had the air of people who didn’t say much. They weren’t thugs, but I wouldn’t want to cross any of them. I certainly didn’t want to speculate about some of the things they might have done in the course of their duties.

  We’d given them a quick ten-minute briefing on Wyatt’s Rebellion. They listened with flattering attention. I was feeling quite pleased with myself until I realised they were regarding this as a military operation, rather than an historical assignment, but perhaps they were right to do so. Whatever floated their boat, anyway. I contented myself with warning them, sternly, not to kill anyone. All they had to do was keep an unobtrusive eye on things and let Clerk and his team do the rest. Actually, since this was the 16th century and plots and rebellions abounded, they probably wouldn’t have to do much at all, because the most important part of the job was to ensure the plot was discovered at the appropriate moment. There was no time for any more. They’d have to pick up the rest on the job.